A Dancing Star
by Spinyfruit
Summary: "You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star." – Friedrich Nietzsche. Antonio is an easy-going, life-loving art teacher at PRATT, excited for the start of the new semester. Lovino is the Italian exchange student who walks into his art studio. Can Antonio handle the passionate, emotionally charged artist?
1. Chapter 1

"You must have chaos within you to give birth to a dancing star." – Friedrich Nietzsche

This is an accompaniment piece to "Your World For a Moment" that takes place earlier in the semester. Slowly but surely I am piecing together my own Art AU.

Antonio – 27, Lovino – 19, Feliciano – 19, Alfred – 21/22, Heracles – 30

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Chapter One

_The Ecstasy of Saint Teresa_, Gian Lorenzo Bernini. 1647-52. Marble.

* * *

Ah, I love the first day of classes. New York is so beautiful in September, and so inspiriting for an artist. I wonder what my new students will be like. This is so exciting!

This is my second year teaching, and I know this is what I was born to do. Nurturing art among young souls is a beautiful thing. They begin so raw: some with great talent, some with no experience at all. But by the end of the class they have matured into something fantastic and (hopefully) discovered something about themselves along the way.

I woke up early today because I want to make sure the studio looks perfect for all of my adorable students. So after I showered, I put on my nicest pair of cargo shorts (they have a wonderful green splatter on the sides), a clean black t-shirt, and my pair of light brown, leather sandals. It's still fairly warm in New York, so I want to take advantage of it while it lasts. After I'm dressed, I check my kitchen for food, but see only two tomatoes sitting on a shelf. So I grab my wallet and keys and leave for my favorite café. A fresh cappuccino is a tasteful way to start the day, and reminds me so much of my home in Spain. It's been several years since I left, but I still miss it: especially in the dreary, snowy, New York winters.

The charming blonde waitress delivered a cappuccino with a cute swirly heart, so I wink at her and laugh as she clumsily returns to her post, offering giggly smiles the way back. Ah, how lovely people are! I wish I could love and paint everyone. But…it's already 7:45. So I slurp my hot cappuccino (burning my tongue slightly), leave a generous tip for the young lady, and briskly walk to the studio.

It's a little before eight when I unlock the studio, which gives me an hour before the first class: the intro to studio art. It should be primarily freshman, since it's the foundation course for the art major, so I need to be my most inviting today. I check my desk for the stack of syllabi; I hope there are enough of them. Next, I walk the perimeter of the studio, inspecting the several different stations. I check the paint table – counting off the acrylics, oils, spray-paint and watercolors – and then the utensil table – sharpening the pencils, cleaning the brushes, organizing the mediums, and laying out the clean palettes. On the other side of the room, there's the cabinet of paper and various sketchbooks, the cabinet of canvases (painted and blank), and the larger cabinet of miscellaneous materials.

Okay, great! Everything seems to be in order, and it's forty-five minutes till the beginning of class. Well, I guess I could sketch or –

"Hello? Oh, hey Toni, you're already here!" Alfred walks through the door I had purposely left open for eager students, and sits down in one of the hard plastic chairs. His all-American appearance is just as it was before summer, only slightly more sun-kissed and very much more painterly. He scratched the side of his white-dripped jean pant and continued, "So what's the class I'm T.A.-ing for?"

I walked over to my desk, picked up a syllabus and said, "It's Introduction to Studio Art, so it should be mainly freshmen. It'll probably be sort of busy the first few weeks while they're getting used to the system," I hand him the slip of paper and sit down in the orange chair next to him. "But when everything calms down you can use the free time to work on your senior capstone."

I watch his blue eyes move across the Century-script, but they seem to lack the usual Alfred-luster. Still, he puts the paper down and with a flashing-white smile continues, "So how has your art been going?"

"Ah well. I haven't been able to do much really. I was able to take some photos when I visited California this summer. But," I paused to look up. "I guess I've been sort of lazy. Most of the time, I didn't feel like taking pictures, I just wanted to take everything in. It was a very beautiful trip!"

"Did you not find your inspiration?"

"No…" I looked to the right at the Frida Kahlo poster hanging above one of the worktables. "I guess it's just that sometimes…sometimes it feels like I'm supposed to be a supporter of artists and not an artist myself." I turned to Alfred and saw he was about to argue with me, so I continued, "It's not like I don't like doing art! Or that I plan to quit or anything. But…I think my job is firstly an art teacher, and secondly an artist. I don't know," I offered Alfred a carefree smile. "Maybe I'm too content with the world to change it."

Alfred opens his mouth to speak, but pauses to look away and think. He knits his brows for a beat, then turns back and says with a confident beam, "You just need new inspiration. Once you find that you'll be an artist again!"

I look at Alfred's optimistic, sparkling eyes and I can't help but return a laughing "maybe." But the truth is – Alfred is an artist and I am not. He doesn't understand because he thinks that I'm just like him. That all I need is a new environment, a pretty face, some new materials, and the art will come. But it's not like that for me. I did enjoy painting, sculpting, and photographing in grade school and high school; I was always one of the best and enjoyed making others happy with my art. When I entered college however, everything changed. I thought I was good, and had been told I was talented since I was ten, but when I opened the doors to my first art class (an Introduction to Studio Art class coincidentally), I saw how truly remarkable artists could be. There was so much beauty and so many gifts surrounding me: I should have been so angry. I should have despised the others and their superior talent. And from that anger, I should have been driven to succeed and become better. But instead, I was happy. I loved the other artists and their work; it made me happy to talk to them, learn from them, and help them in any way I could. To me, artists were more interesting than their work. I thought I was the type of person that could harness my soul and recreate it for the world to see, but I'm not. It takes a special kind of person to be an artist: the person has to love too much, feel too much, and be possessed by an overwhelming desire to express themselves. And more than all of that, they feel compelled to keep doing art over and over again, because they truly cannot stop.

Being an art teacher, I see artists and I see people who love art. While in college the distinction between the two was rather vague, now I can see it very clearly: sometimes from a first impression.

Alfred rises to pick up supplies from the table and I watch him. If I hadn't known of Alfred previously, I don't think I would have pegged him as an artist. He certainly is – he's quite obsessed actually – but he's also remarkably calm and gentle, which is rare for an artist. He picks up a pencil and sketchbook and walks back to the chair. With a creak, he settles in, and as he begins pressing his pencil to the paper I notice the time.

"Oh, I guess they should start coming in now, it's twenty minutes till nine." I get up and move to my desk to silence my phone.

"Am I okay sitting here, or do you want me to move somewhere else?"

"You're fine. I'm just going to – Hi there!" I smiled at the first student walking in. He's dark haired, and tan skinned, with wide (very wide, but that might be from surprise) brown eyes.

"Hello," he began hesitantly. His slender fingers fidget with his black sleeves, and compulsively pull them down over his palms, so he can clench his fists into the fabric. His eyes shift from wide to narrow and he speaks again, "Are you the teacher?"

"Oh! You have an accent! Are you an exchange student? Oh, and yes, yes I am the teacher! Haha! I'm Professor Carriedo. But you can call me Antonio if you like, or Toni: that's my nickname. I'm from Spain, so I have an accent too! Where are you from?"

I guess I rambled a bit, because he seems a bit overwhelmed, if a little bit angry. His cheeks reddened a bit and he said, "I'm Italian, so yes, I'm an exchange student."

"Wait," I called after him, as he stalks past Alfred to the very back of the room at the furthest worktable. "What's your name?"

He set down his olive-green messenger bag and turned slightly in my direction to mutter, "Lovino." I don't know why, but saying his name seemed to embarrass him, because he sat down with a loud thump, crossed his arms over the table and gripped his forearms desperately.

I let Lovino be for a moment and watched him calm down. His fingers loosened their hold, and his chest heaved a quiet breath that swayed his head closer to the table. After a few moments he suddenly shut his eyes and squeezed his forearms – then in a flash, he scooted his chair out, and marched to the cupboards and cabinets. Though he walked rather gracefully, he wasn't very discreet moving things around, or opening and closing wooden cabinet doors for that matter. I figure I would take this chance to reach out to him again, so I strolled over to his side.

As I moved closer to him, he was already subtly sidestepping away, but I decided to speak anyways, and ask, "Are you looking for anything in particular?"

"No," he answered immediately. But he seemsed to second-guess himself, because he knit his eyebrows together harshly, squeezes his eyes shut for a split second, then asks, "Where are the sketchbooks?"

"Oh," I backed up a few steps to the first cabinet and open the door. "They're right here. What kind of texture do you want? There's smooth, ro –" Lovino interrupted me by abruptly moving close – I noticed he smelled of roses and oil paint – shoving his sleeve into the cabinet and pulling out the closest sketchbook. I think I heard him mumble something, but it sounded sort of vague so it may have been Italian. He then backed up to the other cabinets he was previously disorganizing and continued hunting.

My lips twitched a little because I knew what he was looking for; he just didn't want to ask. He seemed very shy. So I silently moved to the other side of the room and began sharpening pencils. I looked around absent-mindedly, sharpening pencils that were already past pointy, until I saw brown hair and black sleeves close in from the corner of my eye. I tilted my chin down a little to see Lovino better, and observe his very red face, and molten brown eyes, intently focused on the pencil selection in front of him. I was a bit insulted, because he made an obvious point to stand a foot away from me, and stretch his right arm across the table to reach the materials he wanted. Once he found what he needed, Lovino turned on his heel and walked back to his seat. I lingered near the table, blatantly staring at him, as he looked up once, then to the side, then to my direction – upon which he immediately turned back – and finally started sketching. I stayed a bit longer, somehow hoping that he would look up with a smile and ask, "Toni, would you like to see what I'm drawing?" But…

It appeared that's not Lovino's personality. So I let out a frustrated breath and walk past oblivious Alfred – still very much absorbed in his drawing – to my desk. I sat down, and soon after new students began to file in. I offered each of them hellos and they all smiled and exchanged greetings with me; I was even able to earn laughs from some. Why wasn't Lovi as open as them? Wait – Lovi? I chuckle quietly at the thought. That's such a cute nickname! Maybe he'll smile if I call him that!

With that happy thought loitering my mind, I check the time and it's nine o' clock. The class is a gentle hum of cheery conversations, and I stand up to pass out the syllabus. But as I move from my desk to the walking path from the doorway, my back is tackled from a very hard, and very loud, body yelling, "Oh _scusa_! I'm sorry! I didn't see you there!" He moved around me to look up at my face. "Oh, but you're really tall! I should have seen you. Hmm, I wonder why I didn't. Well, you're not hurt are you?"

This rapid-fire way of talking seemed strangely familiar, but I'm not sure how. More noticeably though, was the boy's familiar tanned skin and dark hair. I wanted to pause and think, but he was expecting my answer with honest eyes so I said, "No, I'm fine! You didn't run into me that hard haha."

"Oh good! Are you the teacher? My name is Feliciano; I'm an exchange student from Italy. You can probably tell from my accent though. People say it's very noticeable. But they also say I'm better at English than my brother though. Oh, where is he?"

"Where is who?" I asked, a bit clouded by the sudden onslaught of information.

"My brother! His name is Lovi and he's – Oh! There he is!" Feliciano shouted and skipped to the back of the room. I followed his trail to the back of the room, and found that my Lovi is his Lovi! Oh, well that makes sense. They look so alike. Although, watching Feliciano hug a very reluctant Lovi – who was elbowing Felicano's invading body away – I don't suppose they're alike in many other ways.

"Okay, class! My name is Antonio Carriedo, and I am your professor for Introduction to Studio Art." I offered a reassuring smile, slightly deviating my equal gaze to the back of the room; but unfortunately, seeing the other Italian meeting my gaze instead. I turned around to pick up the stack of syllabi, "I'm going to pass around the syllabus for the class. Most of you are probably experienced artists, so this will be an easy basic class; and for those of you who are beginning, I'm sure this will be a useful foundation course."

I walked around to each worktable and offered a differing amount of papers. "You'll have five major projects this semester. One two-dimensional piece – which can be pencil, paint, pastel, etcetera. Another multi-media piece, which can combine the various materials in some way." I walked to the worktable nearest to the cabinets and pass their stack to the closest person. "An unconventional-material piece, which is pretty self-explanatory."

I reached Lovi's table and he was still sketching meticulously in his sketchbook. I try to subtly peak at his drawing, but just as I began to stretch my neck, Lovi's head shot up, and his black sleeves unfolded to shield the drawing. I met his sparkling brown eyes (no doubt sparkling from anger) with an innocent smile and dropped two syllabi on his table. I continued to iterate the last two pieces – a wooden one and a freeform – distinctly aware of the hot gaze following me the rest of my turn around the classroom.

When I reached my desk I made the final announcement, "So, for this class period you're free to start sketching ideas, talk to me, or do some research for inspiration. We have art history textbooks in the cupboard here, near my desk. Or you're free to go to the library and do some research there." I feel rather confident allowing my students to roam the campus since after all, art is free, and binding them to the classroom seems unfair. As long as they complete the work with the maximum-possible effort then I'm satisfied.

Slowly the class began to disperse. A few ask my permission to go to the library (still too timid not to make me aware), others come to me to bounce off ideas, and the others scatter around the room ogling and picking at supplies. Alfred received some questions, and he enthusiastically offered his opinions. Soon a small line wraps around Alfred's chair, all of the students talking at once to catch his attention.

The whole class seems so active and chaotic, and then, in the very back of the room, there is Lovino quietly sketching. Even Feliciano dashed off somewhere (which I sort of doubt is the library), leaving Lovi as the single movement in the back of the classroom. What's strange is that, although Lovi doesn't make a sound, I can't help but notice him. Somehow, his presence is the loudest: like he is yelling or something. But each time I turn around, he is still sitting there, one hand pressed down to keep the paper still, the other gripped tight to the pencil. Every so often his eyes will flick up, or if I'm lucky, they flick in my direction and I catch a flash of golden-brown. Then at around 10:30, Lovi let out a sigh and clawed his fingers through the waves of his brown hair. But that was the only audible activity he did.

At 10:50, students began putting away materials, packing up and leaving. And at eleven it was only Lovi and I. Even Alfred left to get a hamburger because he was just "dying" without one. Lovi isn't wearing headphones, so he must have heard everyone leave. Maybe he's waiting for Feliciano to return?

I'm sitting at my desk, but I don't know if I should go over to Lovi and ask why he's still here. That sounds a bit rude, doesn't it? I mean, I don't have a class until 12:30 so there's no reason he can't be here. Still, maybe I should mention something in case he's forgetting about another class.

"Hey Lovi!" I call out from across the room. His head whips around surprised; I don't think he was expecting me to call him that. "You know the class is over right?"

I smiled inwardly at his reddening cheeks and furrowing eyebrows. I can see he gripped the pencil tighter. "Are you going to kick me out or something?"

"Of course not," I said easily, laughing softly at his reaction. "I was checking to make sure you wouldn't miss your next class."

Lovi's shoulders dropped slightly, and he turned his head back to his drawing. "My next class is here."

"Oh really? You're in my painting class? Oh, how wonderful! We have two classes together Lovi!" I cupped my face with my palm and reminisce the thought. But my daydream was short-lived, because immediately I heard a loud wooden thump from across the room.

Lovi had slammed his left fist onto the table, and was leaning forward to the table, heaving heavy, controlled breaths.

I observed his outburst silently, but made a note as I asked, "So are you perchance in my life study class?"

"Fuck!" Lovi gripped his forehead with his right hand, balancing the pencil above his fingers. His eyes were closed and his fingers dug into his scalp – I wish he wouldn't do that.

"Haha, oh Lovi, are you only taking art classes?"

He grazed his fingers through his hair before turning to me with a fierce glare and red cheeks. "That's all I want to take."

"Ah, well. Lucky me then!" I laughed as he rolled his eyes. "So… what other classes are you taking?"

Lovi turned back to the table and pinned his elbows to the table. He looked down intently but made no move to draw again.

"Are you not going to tell me?" I teased, watching with amusement as his emotions danced across his strained muscles. Lovi flicked his eyes to me for a half second, was quiet for another minute, before finally (finally!) speaking again.

"I have…" he began quietly. "3-D desi – fucking dammit!" He slammed his fist to the table as he saw my broadening smile. Then Lovi started muttering Italian obscenities and waving his left hand in the air. His eyes look so wonderful when they're angry.

"Come on, what else do you have?" I stifled a girlish giggle. Lovi rolled his eyes at my outburst, but made his usual movements to talk: turning his eyes away and seizing grip of his arms.

"Then I have…sculpture?" Lovi reluctantly met my gaze, but I couldn't hide my expression quickly enough. "Y-you're not teaching sculpture?" Lovi's eyes widened and he examined my crestfallen face.

I felt like I was about to cry. Why? Why wasn't Lovi in my sculpture class? Oh yeah, I don't teach sculpture. Oh, why didn't I learn? But my depression was abruptly ended by the most stunning thing I had ever seen: Lovi smiling. His dark brows were uncrossed, and his eyes were gleaming like burning amber. Although I was a bit hurt by the reason he was smiling, the vision of his red cheeks rounded by a perfect, reckless smile – I was caught breathless.

"Ha! Damn Spaniard! How do you like that?" He pointed his pencil at me. "What? No comeback? No stupid comment? It's about time."

I brought my hand to my mouth, but I couldn't find my voice anywhere. I couldn't even feel my skin. My whole body felt paralyzed, and my eyes stunned. I feel like have just been speared by an angel. Now I know what ecstasy Saint Teresa felt.

For the remaining two hours, I left Lovi alone. I observed him the entire time, but I couldn't speak to him. Every motion he made fascinated me, every breath he took drew me in, but I didn't dare approach him. My racing heart made it painfully plain to me what happened, but I don't know what to do.

I'm in love with Lovino.

* * *

_scusa_ - sorry

This is my OTP, so I'm going to try hard to make it a good story! So I hope you keep reading! yaaaayyyy


	2. Chapter 2

Note: It's really hard finding synonyms for blushing, gazing/staring, and sparkle. So get ready for some repetition regarding Antonio's description of Lovi's eyes. I'm so sorry. I tryyy

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Chapter Two

_Melancholia I_, Albrecht Durer. 1514. Engraving.

* * *

Lovi didn't seem to think much of my sudden silence, or if he did, he didn't show it. Soon after my revelation, Lovi made the move for his messenger bag and pulled out his iPod and headphones – an indication that he was no longer available to talk to.

That was all fine with me, because I was having an internal crisis. My head was spinning because I was balancing two conflicting emotions. I was happy, so happy, about being in love with Lovino. I love loving, and I want to love him more than I've ever loved anyone (if that makes any sense). But…I don't know if I can do that. Scratch that. I know I can. But should I? Would it be wrong? Although I'm not sure how old he is, I know Lovi is a student, and I'm a teacher. That's wrong, right? Oh, how can love ever me wrong?

After waving my hands in the air to no one in particular, I leaned back in my chair and stared at the blank ceiling. Okay, well. There's nothing wrong about loving Lovino, I just can't have a relationship with him. Is that right? I mean, it's quite possible that he hates me. Or that he's not interested. Or he might even have a girlfriend or boyfriend. So, I guess I'll just love him from the sidelines. Oh, how tragic! Why is our true love doomed from the start?

"_Bastardo_," I hear a familiar accent trill the "r," and I drop my tilted chair to the floor. Lovino has one earpiece out and is glaring at me with dark sparkling eyes (how very mysterious). "Are you having a crisis over there? I can hear you crying through my music."

"Oh," I begin, laughing nervously and too, too loudly. "No, no! I'm fine! I just remembered that I forgot…to water my tomato plant! I love that tomato plant so much. I just don't want it to die! Now I'm so worried." My hands stop fluttering to hold my face.

"You like tomatoes?" Lovi asked nonchalantly, as he picked up his pencil again.

"Oh, yes! Who wouldn't love tomatoes? I love them on my salads, with my steaks, or just as a tasty snack! What about you?"

He turned his head slightly to look at me, but he did it so quickly it was like a strange muscle-twitch. Then, characteristically, his cheeks reddened and he pressed harder onto the pencil. "Yeah…I like them."

I was about to reply and say – well, I don't know what – but as soon as I made the move, two students walked through the door. I greeted them, offered them charming smiles, and soon enough another student walked in and another and another. It was almost time for my one o' clock class.

After what seemed the entirety of the class settled into their seats, I sneaked a glance at Lovino to see what he was up to. He was still sitting, one knee tucked under his chest, right arm consistently moving, and left arm hooked around the sketchbook protectively – all alone in the back of the room. He took out his headphones, and laid his iPhone on the table, outside of his "drawing zone."

He never looked up at me, not when I began talking to the class, nor when I passed out the syllabi to the classes. I even lingered a few seconds longer at his table, hoping he would flash his brilliant, bronze eyes in my direction. But he didn't. And I, for fear of seeming awkward, was forced to continue travelling around the classroom.

As I was finishing my speech to the class I felt a familiar weight slam into my back, and I stumbled forward a few feet, catching my balance on the ridge of some students' desk. Sure enough, my brief pang of pain was interrupted by a cheerful:

"Oh no! I did it again! _Scusa, scusa_! I'm sorry Toni, I was in a hurry and I didn't look at where I was going! I hope you're okay! You're okay, aren't you? You're not hurt right? Oh, you don't look hurt. That's good, because or else I would've felt bad. But I'm pretty light, so I'm sure I won't bruise you. You look pretty strong!"

Feliciano quickly approached me as he was talking, grasping at me arm and inspecting by abdomen. Which doesn't really make much sense, because he hit me in the back –

"You see I was running late because I went to pick up food for my _fratello_! He's so picky; he can't eat anything that I don't cook. And he usually eats around noon, so I'm sure he's starving. Oh, there he is now! I'm going to go give him his lunch, but I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

With that, Feliciano skipped to the back of the room, red backpack bouncing, grinning and laughing as Lovi brought both knees to his chest and buried his face in his hands. Feli unzipped his backpack and placed two containers of Tupperware onto the table, as well as two sets of silverware, and two tumblers filled with something that I'm pretty sure isn't cranberry juice. He continued to set the table happily, apparently accustomed to Lovino's low rumble of what I am ninety-five percent certain were Italian swear words. But, Feliciano was probably right, because as soon as their meals were set, and Lovino started eating his spaghetti and tomato sauce, he seemed to calm down.

So, as unorthodox as it was, I allowed Feliciano and Lovi to have their late lunch, as the other students shuffled in and out, in the same methods as the previous class. I would look over to Lovi and Feli as often as I could. Feli appeared to do most of the talking while they ate; Lovi seemed content to listen, flick his eyes up once in a while, and make deliberate efforts to twirl his spaghetti neatly. Around 1:40, Lovi finished his meal – he's a very slow eater – and as Feli packed up the used Tupperware, Lovi opened up the sketchbook and returned to monstrously drawing up the paper.

I sighed quietly. I'm guessing that's the last activity I'm going to get out of Lovi this period. And now I'm stuck talking to so many students because Alfred doesn't T.A. this class. I stare desperately in Lovi's direction and run my fingers through my hair. And worst of all, I still have no idea what he's sketching! Arrgh!

"Um, Professor Carriedo? Are you okay?"

My painting class finished (eventually), but it was agonizingly slow when Lovi wouldn't let me within a two-foot perimeter of him. As the day went on he became more and more paranoid of me catching his drawing, although I have no idea why since he made it PRETTY MUCH IMPOSSIBLE.

I suppose it might have been partially my fault. Towards hour number two, I saw Lovi had his headphones in, so I seized the opportunity and maneuvered quietly to his desk, peered over his shoulder to see a piece of his drawing. Alas, it was to know avail. Not only did Feli give my location away with a high-pitched giggle and ridiculous smile, which lead Lovi to slam the sketchbook shut, spin around in his chair, and swing a fist in my direction. But the corner of the page I did see…made no sense. Lines can be sort of vague when taken out of context.

After the class ended, Lovi left with them – I guess he got tired of sitting in place for several hours – taking his sketchbook (which is actually mine) and messenger bag with him. I managed to say a happy goodbye to him as he stalked out the door, but all I got in return was "I'm just going to the bathroom, so make sure no one takes my seat…Bastardo." Which was, of course, accompanied by a scoff and glare, as well as an instinctive clenching of the sketchbook and subtle sway away from me. There are many things I have listed that I wish Lovi wouldn't do. But at the same time, he's so cuuuuutttee!

He did come back. But he came back about twenty minutes later with a Starbucks coffee balanced in one hand, and his sketchbook balanced precariously atop of his messenger bag under the other arm. I tried to surprise him when he returned, but I didn't receive the reaction I was hoping for.

When Lovi came in I was sitting in his chair at the table, but he stopped in his tracks upon seeing me, so I called out to him. "Hey Lovi! Oh, you got coffee! You should've gotten me some. That sounds wonderful."

He stayed rooted to his ground near the door, slowly lowering his eyebrows and narrowing his eyes. "What are you doing in my seat?" He deadpanned.

"Oh, well I just thought I would keep your seat warm for you!" I reply, laughing at his disgusted reaction. I glance down at the desk and lift up a sheet of paper to him. "Look, I drew this for you!"

Lovi blinked out of his simmer, and before he had a chance to contort his face to distrust, I saw (I know I did!) his face soften and a small sparkle of surprise light his eyes. But a second later, Lovi was approaching me like a wild coyote, head down, waves of dark hair shifting over his right eyebrow, while making cautious steps to the desk. He didn't look at the drawing right away, and instead took special care placing the sketchbook on Feli's seat, and his messenger bag on top of it. Then, he gingerly laid his coffee on the table, accidentally making eye contact with me, and luckily (for me), holding it until he finished setting his cup. Finally, he began making a great show of sliding my drawing off the table and lifting it to his eyes.

He purposefully hid his face behind the paper but, immediately upon doing so, I heard a short snort, which was probably the stifled beginning to his laugh. Lovino caught it though, and spent another good twenty seconds hiding behind my drawing, no doubt regaining his composure. Oh, how I wanted to see his smile again!

But suddenly, he slammed my drawing onto the table and yelled, "What is this crap?"

I wasn't able to hide my smile, but I tried to make a dramatic show of being faux-offended, and replied, "Oh, Lovi! How could you ask me that? I spent twenty minutes drawing that picture of you eating a tomato."

"I'm smiling." His forehead creased in an effort to remain angry, but the corner of his lip twitched upward.

"Because you're cute when you smile!"

"No, I'm not. And I don't smile." Despite his efforts, his lips stretched further to his blushing cheeks.

"Yes, you are Lovi! You're very cute. And you're smiling now!" I add teasingly, laughing as his smile vanished underneath his hand.

At first, he remained still from embarrassment, but as I continued laughing, he lowered his hand and stared down at me with vengeful eyes. My laughing died down to sparse chuckles underneath Lovi's angry aura, and though I'm sure he intended to make me stop altogether, I couldn't suppress my smile.

Lovi didn't like this apparently, so he set my drawing on the table, then extended his slender fingers to gracefully curl around the Starbucks coffee cup and lift it ceremoniously from the table. He sipped it once, twice, then abruptly poured the rest of the coffee onto the table, staining his portrait in the process.

"Lovi!" I exclaimed as I scooted out of my chair and away from the flow of hot coffee. "Why did you do that?"

Lovi dropped the empty cup to the floor and crossed his arms. "That's what happens to shitty drawings."

"They get coffee dumped on them?" I asked dumbly.

"No!" He protested, digging his nails into his biceps. "They just get destroyed in general!"

"Ah," I began, unsure of what the mood is. But I decided to keep Lovi talking and ask, "Why?"

He blinked and raised his eyebrows. "Huh?"

"Why do you need to destroy bad drawings? Isn't that a bit harsh?" I looked at him intently, curious to know the answer. Lovi's brief moment of confidence was already fading, and as his cheeks reddened, his eyes begin shining, and his fingers strengthened their hold.

"No, not really. But…practice makes perfect. So you…just have to keep trying until you get it right." His voice became quieter as he continued talking, so I jumped the chair forward a bit while he was talking to catch his accented English.

"Yeah, but, you don't need to destroy the drawings that aren't perfect. Can't you just keep them and move forward?" I rest my chin in my palm and wait patiently for Lovi to answer. I know he's not talking about my drawing now, he's talking about destroying his own artwork.

"Well, I can't," he said simply, turning his head away from me. He shut his eyes violently for a moment then opened them and continued, "It's just – every time I see my drawings, I – I can't help but look at the flaws. All I see are the mistakes, and it just gets me so…angry!" Towards the end, Lovino raked his fingers through his dark hair, and I could hear his nails graze his scalp.

"Lovino," I began seriously. "Do you destroy your drawings often?"

He flinched noticeably, but managed to croak, "Well, I – um…"

I stand up and walk over to him, but he matches my steps forward by backing up into Feli's chair, then correcting his escape to back up into the wall. It all seems rather silly though, because in a few strides I was towering over him by the wall. Like a boy who was caught pulling his sister's hair, Lovi slumped and hid his arms behind his back, whilst staring fervently at the ground.

I don't care about him staining my drawing, but I don't like the sound of Lovi ripping or throwing away his art in a fit of anger. I just want to ask him not to hurt himself this way; I'm sure he regrets it after he does it. He probably just gets so caught up in his emotions he can't help himself.

I waited for him to look up at me, but he stubbornly kept his eyes locked on his shoes. I sighed audibly and said, "Lovi, look at me."

Lovi made no move except the soft rise fall of his chest.

"Lovino…" I warned, channeling my more intimidating tone of voice. He slowly lifted his head, and I saw the defiant glow of his brown eyes burn through his dark lashes. "If you really don't like your drawings, try giving them to other people. That way your hard work won't be for nothing." He flicked his eyes away with a frown so I added, "And I'm sure they'd appreciate it. If you can't think of anyone to give them to, give them to me! I'm sure I'll love whatever you draw."

It was silent for a while, or at least it felt like a while, before Lovino let out a few breathy laughs and asked, "How can you say that?" He rose from his slump and turned to face me again. "You don't even know me. You've never seen my art, you don't know anything about me." He pushes me forward from the wall, until I, coincidentally, hit Feli's chair, and was forced to alter my steps too. "Where do you go off making soppy speeches and promises for?" Lovi stopped walking forward, and I in turn was able to stop fumbling backwards. He smiled smugly and finished with, "Stupid bastard."

"I'm sorry?" I say confusedly, feeling a grin widen on my face in response.

Lovi curbed his smile, slid his sketchbook from underneath his messenger bag, and continued walking past me, towards the door. I heard him mutter a "whatever" as he brushed past me; then as he neared the door, he announced more loudly, "That mess better be cleaned up when I get back."

"Wait," I call to him, before he slipped out the door. "Does this mean you'll do what I ask?"

He stopped at the doorway, left hand poised on the frame, and didn't turn around. Then I heard a soft, but distinct accent reply, "We'll see…" And his figure disappeared around the corner.

At five o' clock, my life study class started, and fifteen minutes later, Feliciano and Lovino walked in. Thankfully, Feli didn't bump into me, and instead handed me a coffee that had "sorry" scribbled in cursive. I tried to ask him why, but he only winked in reply. I don't know what that was supposed to mean.

Lovino simply treaded past me, one arm hooked around the sketchbook, and the other hand shoved in his jean pocket. Soon enough, we were back in the same pattern. Lovi and Feli sat in the back of the room, students shuffled in and out, and I remained occupied until the end of class. As much as I wished for Lovi to walk up to me and strike up a conversation, I knew better than to expect that. So when seven o' clock was only minutes away, and Lovino was the only one left loitering the classroom, I had already rehearsed my cheerful goodbye for him, knowing it would be one-sided.

But as I was sitting down distracted by a strange text message I got from Gilbert, Lovino slammed the sketchbook onto my desk with a slap and yelled, "Here bastard. Keep it."

I snapped to attention, but was still a little confused by the sudden turn of events. I looked to Lovino for an explanation, but he had his face turned away and was making an obvious show of tapping his foot.

So I decided not to question my luck, and opened the sketchbook. I stared intently at it for a minute, and after the first ten seconds I felt Lovino shift his gaze to me. I couldn't even hear him breathe. As cute as he was when he was nervous, I didn't want him fainting, so I lowered the sketchbook to give him my opinion.

"Oh, Lovino," I begin, savoring his curious expression. "I love it! You're so talented."

His eyes widened considerably, and his face reddened far more than he had today (if that was even possible); and in response he covered part of his face with his hand and turned away.

It didn't seem like he could find his voice, so I continued with a smile, "Thank you for giving it to me. I'll treasure it with all of my heart!"

He gaped and gave a few false starts to a reply before finally stuttering, "I-idiot! It's not that great. You have no taste." He wavered a moment – I'm sure he was contemplating snatching the sketchbook from my hands, but I held it tight – before finally throwing his hands up in the air and saying, "Oh, whatever. You wanted it. Use it as firewood for all I care." And he huffed out of the room without saying goodbye.

I yelled a goodbye to him, which he might or might not of heard depending on the speed he fled the building; but it made me feel better regardless. I laughed softly to myself and smiled at Lovi's drawing. I'm pretty sure the boy underneath the tree is supposed to be him, though his face and body are largely hidden in the shadows. And maybe the vineyard in the background is his farm in Italy. He really is talented. All of the detail is meticulously arranged. It sort of reminds me of Albrecht Durer's work.

But more than anything, he's so cuuuuuutee! And I get to see him five days a week now. Hopefully he'll come to like me at some point. Maybe he'll call me Toni soon!

* * *

_bastardo_ - bastard

_scusa_ - sorry

_fratello_ - brother

To everyone who has read so far, thank you! I'll try to make it decent and update sort of regularly. Unfortunately, I "shouldn't" be updating until my finals are over - so expect an update after December 11 (I put "shouldn't" in quotation marks because updating my fan fiction is an excellent procrastination activity). But after that I hope to make speedy chapters and maybe (MAYBE?) finish it by the end of December.

Also, though I'll continue with the art work chapter titles, I don't know if I'll manage to reference it directly like I do with my other fic. Just the way Antonio talks and thinks makes it hard to do. So it'll just have to be a subtle reference most of the time.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry it's been a looong time. I have no excuses, but I do have an offering of fluff, GERITA, and inevitable angst.

Even better, we have Lovi's POV! But beware of his language.

Ludwig - 21, Francis 24/25, Gilbert - 27

* * *

Chapter Three

_Jealousy_, Edvard Munch. 1907. Oil on Canvas. (Part One)

(Lovino's POV)

* * *

That damn Spanish bastard.

Thanks to him, the past two weeks have gone by very annoyingly. That's the only way to put it. I think the biggest problem I have is that I see him all the damn time. Monday, Wednesday and Friday I see him for six consistent hours, and Tuesday and Thursday, I get no break, and have to experience his frustratingly unwavering, happiness for another three. God fucking damn it.

I don't know what I hate more: the way Antonio always makes an effort to talk to me, to smile at me with his easy smile, sparkling, green eyes, and smooth Spanish accent…Or my reaction to it all. No matter how hard I try, I can't stop my heartbeat from picking up whenever I enter the studio, or stop my eyes from frantically darting around, searching for his tall, tan figure. Even when I'm drawing, I've developed this damned compulsion to flick my eyes up every five or ten minutes to see what he's up to. If Antonio's talking to Alfred, that annoyingly loud American, I quietly tap my iPhone and pause my music, so I can hear his warm, musical laugh. And somehow, I find myself smiling just at the sound of it…Which pisses me the hell off, because I can't draw straight.

During the first week, Feliciano actually managed to attend all of his classes, even if he was late every, damn time. So for every class that we had together, we sat next to each other; mostly due to my own insistence that we sit with each other. I don't want to sit next to some American strangers.

But last week, for whatever reason, Feliciano became more and more elusive; frequently skipping part, or all of his classes, to go "get some coffee," whatever the hell that means. I know what it meant for me, it meant an open invitation for the Spanish bastard to sit across from me, where Feli normally sits. He never sits there for very long, only for ten minutes or so, but each time it feels like a fucking hour. I don't know what to do when he sits down, all curly, brown hair, and white, shining teeth, and starts talking random shit. Like last Friday for example, Antonio spent two full minutes staring at me drawing, then out of the blue, asks:

"Hey Lovi, where do you live in Italy?"

Since I was cornered I felt forced to respond. So as I was dusting away extra eraser shavings I answered, "Um, _Firenze_…"

"Oh, really? I went there on vacation a few summers ago with my friends! I wonder if we passed each other on the streets. Do you think that's possible?" He looked at me dreamily, and I blushed at his stupid fantasies.

"Doubt it," I deadpanned, still painfully aware of the lingering blush on my cheeks.

Antonio pretended to be shocked – or maybe he really is that dumb – and stared at me with a pout before droning, "Awwww Lovi! Don't be like that. It's possible! Think carefully. During the first week of July, two summers ago, do you remember seeing an attractive, dark Spaniard wearing – um – shorts…yeah, I think I wore shorts the whole week. And I was probably walking with a flamboyant, blonde guy –"

"Alfred?" I interrupted in disbelief. I never thought of him as flamboyant. Arrogant, yes, but for God's sake he wears fucking overalls to class!

"No, this is my friend Francis." Antonio laughed, his eyes looked away from me briefly, before returning with a newfound glitter. "He's actually a graduate student here. Maybe you can meet him one day! He's studying fashion, and since you're Italian you guys might get along –"

"I don't care about meeting some sissy, fashion guy!" I half-yelled, stifling my frustration midway after recalling there were still a few stragglers in the classroom. I looked down at my paper, feeling slightly guilty for lashing at Antonio, and huffed, "Weren't you in the middle of another story?"

His eyes brightened with recognition, and he resumed his story with a wave of his hand. "Yeah, as I was saying, you would've probably see me with Francis, and another guy, this one a platinum blonde – he'd probably look like an albino from afar. He's very loud and sings a lot; I think he was singing a lot at the bars we went to. He's in a band, you know! Actually, there's this pretty funny story where…"

Antonio continued to prattle on about details, like what he think they wore each day of the week, what restaurants they went to, the churches they visited, while still managing to mix in multiple "pretty funny" stories he and _Francis_ and _Gil_ went through. For some reason, as Antonio continued telling his story and laughing at his memories, I found myself growing increasingly and increasingly quiet. The thought of him, prancing around Firenze with his undoubtedly charming, and talented, and good-looking friends pointed out how little about Antonio I knew about, and how small of a part I was in his life. Oh, for God's sake, I'm his student! Why the hell do I even care?

Eventually, Antonio noticed I shut down, and for once, he decided to be intuitive and change the subject.

"So Lovino, when did you start drawing?"

"I've always done it," I said automatically, refusing to give into his attempts at conversation.

"Why'd you start?" He continued, blatantly ignoring my clipped answer.

Quietly, I mumbled, "I don't know, because it was preschool and we had to…"

"Why'd you continue to do it?" He pressed, and I swear I could hear a smile in his voice. Why the hell was he smiling?

I stared dumbly at my sketch for a while, debating whether I should answer honestly, make something up, or just answer with an "I don't know." I glanced around the room once to make sure no one was too close, and answered slowly, "It's a lot easier than talking."

"Oh, do you not like to talk?" Antonio asked, and this time I looked up to confirm that damnable smile. I don't see what's so funny about this.

"What the hell do you think?" I burst out, suddenly indifferent to the others in the room.

He kept an even gaze with me, and I saw his eyes soften thoughtfully. I think the only thing that's worse than a smiling Antonio, is a quiet Antonio. It freaks me out when he goes all philosophical, and I felt my palms start to sweat. Finally, he blinked, and replied, "Hmm, I think you're going to be a great artist, Lovi."

"W-where the hell did that come from?" I stuttered.

"Well, I just think art is more important to you than it is to most people. You need it to express yourself, right? So you're very passionate about it and work very hard at it."

Something about the way Antonio looked at me as he was saying those ridiculously stupid, cheesy lines, made me want to cry – for once, I felt like someone was actually seeing me. But before I could talk, I glanced away to blink the tears back into my eye (because that's possible), and choked down the knot in my throat. Then I mumbled, "I'm not as talented as Feliciano though…"

"Well, I haven't seen Feliciano's work yet, so I can't give you my opinion, but from what I can tell…You love it more. So eventually you'll probably be the greater artist." He gave me a ridiculous, exaggerated wink and I noticed his cheeks were lightly dusted in a light blush. "Besides, Feliciano looks like the type of person who has a lot of interests. He might very well decide to do something else one day. It doesn't look like art is his whole life."

I grunted in response, and decided not to add my cynical commentary. Antonio doesn't know what he's talking about until he sees Feliciano's artwork. Feli's a prodigy; everyone has always said so. Art comes so easily to him. He was able to pick up painting, sculpting, pastels, printmaking, and almost everything else after just reading a book. That's why _Nonno_ insisted he receive formal training as an artist, and that's why we're in America. _Nonno_ didn't think I would be able to make it in to an art school, because I'm not as good as Feliciano, but he was prepared to send me wherever Feliciano decided to go anyway, since Feliciano needed someone to watch out for him. And it's true, Feliciano does need someone to keep care of him, so I would've come to New York, even if I hadn't gotten in. But I'm glad I did, just so I can rub it in _Nonno's_ face.

I've actually been feeling rather confident lately – it's probably that Spanish bastard's fault. He always insists on seeing my artwork, and goes over the top in his praise for it; it's so damn embarrassing, I don't know how to react to compliments. I end up blushing furiously, cursing, and avoiding eye contact, as part of my three-step coping process. But today, all of that built-up confidence is going to crash and burn, I just know it.

Today is Monday of the third week in school, and for most of my art classes (those I have with Antonio), our first projects are due. So now, Antonio will finally be able to compare my art with Feliciano and realize what an idiot he's been for boosting my confidence, and calling me a "natural artist," and all that other crap. Worst part of it is that even I don't know what Feliciano's been up to, so I'm not mentally prepared for the inevitable display of sparkling grandeur.

I sneak a nervous glance at Feliciano's large, black portfolio, resting on our kitchen counter, and sigh. I could ask Feli to show me, I know he would; he already asked me several times to look over his work. But I turned him down every time: I know it'll just get me depressed.

"Vee~_fratello_! Can we stop at Starbucks on the way to class?" I heard Feli call out from his room.

"Again? You already had coffee this morning!" I yelled back, as I started preparing for the inevitable trek; sliding my black, Diesel leather jacket over my red, long-sleeved t-shirt, and slipping on my black converse.

"Aww, you can never have too much coffee!" I heard Feliciano's light steps echo down the hall, until he skipped into the kitchen brightly dressed in a warm, yellow button down, rolled up at the sleeves (like always), layered with a champagne colored waistcoat, and various types of bracelets bouncing at his wrists. As he strode to the marble countertop to pick up his portfolio, I noticed he was wearing his favorite pair of Armani jeans, cuffed above the ankles, and his shiniest bronze-toned oxfords. What the –

"Why the hell are you so dressed up?" I shouted at him, swinging around in my stool to face him, further scrutinizing his perfectly styled hair (except for the curl of course), and sparkling diamond earrings.

Feli made a face and replied, "I don't know what you're talking about~! I always dress like this." He danced to the door, portfolio in hand, and began turning the knob. "Come on Lovi, or else we'll be late!"

"It's fucking 7:30! Class starts at nine, and Starbucks is just across the street from the school!" I yelled back at him, as I already resigned to picking up my messenger bag, and stomping to the door.

"Mmm, I go to a different one. It's a little further away~" Feliciano sing-songed, and bounded down the long staircase. Why the hell did he ask Nonno for a penthouse apartment?

"How far is a 'little further'?" I demanded, trudging on each step.

"Not too far, I promise!" Feliciano smiled at me, golden-brown eyes sparkling. Why can't I be so damn happy?

I grumbled a surrendered "fine" and followed him into the fancy lobby, rolling my eyes every time Feliciano waved a "hello" to an employee, and slapped my palm to my forehead when he started a conversation with the doorman. Eventually, we managed to make it out of the well-to-do apartment complex, and into the bustling, insanely crowded, New York sidewalks. One of the main reasons we chose this place was because it was close to the school; that, and it had an amazing, decked out kitchen. So right now, as we're marching in the complete opposite direction, I can't help but groan at the prospect of so much exercise. I'm already exhausted from camping out in the art studio all weekend; I can't handle a hike Monday morning. At least we're doing this for coffee. It better be some damned good coffee too.

Feli and I didn't share much of a conversation on the way, which is strange because, although I'm bad at talking, usually Feliciano is able to ramble on about random nonsense endlessly. Whatever, I have my own problems to think about.

"Vee~we're here!" I heard Feliciano giggle, running ahead to pull open the door for me.

I walked inside with another roll of my eyes, and sighed a fake "great." Feliciano skips to my side instantly, and I follow his skip to the line, which was winding its way around the tables. Great.

"So what are you getting?" I asked, already bored. I hate chain restaurants. When Feliciano doesn't answer, I nudged him with my elbow and asked again, "Hey, what are you getting?"

Feliciano briefly flit his eyes over my face and mumbled a "_non lo so_" before returning his attention to the counter, balancing on his tiptoes to look over the other people's heads.

"What the hell are you looking at?" I hissed at him, imitating his line of sight to catch anything particular.

"Oh, nothing – Aha!" Feliciano dropped his heels to the floor and smiled at me. "I think I'll get a cappuccino."

"Hmph, well I guess I'll get the usual." I say, still obsessively staring at the counter. What was Feliciano looking at?

"Lovi?" I heard a familiar voice exclaim, and my heart skipped a beat. Very slowly, I turn my head around to see the exact face I have been dreading all weekend. Antonio smiles down at me, his green eyes too bright and dazzling for a Monday morning (what is with everyone?), and asked, "Why are you here?"

After a moment of stunned pause, I remember to lower my head, glare, and respond sarcastically, "Why else would I be here? I wanted coffee!" I stepped forward in line automatically.

"Oh, and what do we have here? Is this your new boyfriend, Toni?" I redden ten-fold at the combination of "your" and "boyfriend" that it takes me a few hazy seconds to hone in on the snotty, French accent. He's blonde, with long, well-kept hair; and dressed to the nines in a black, tailored suit, though absent of any tie, with the top buttons of his shirt undone.

"Wh-Who the hell are you?" I stuttered, drawing my hands to my face to cool my cheeks down.

"Ah, have you not heard of me already?" He smiled easily, and offered me a seductive, blue-eyed gaze.

"I told you about him Lovino! This is Francis; he's the fashion graduate." Antonio smiled at me, apparently unfazed by the French bastard's statement, and his movements closing in on me. _Oh_, it's the flamboyant, French-Canadian blonde from the stories. Damn it.

"Lovino! Such a beautiful name, for such a beautiful boy!" He extended his arm to caress my cheek, and before I registered what happened, Antonio had already grabbed Francis's forearm, and interrupted him with a much less happy-go-lucky smile than I was accustomed to.

"He also has a brother – _a twin_ – you should meet him, I'm sure the two of you would get along amazingly." Antonio shared a level stare with Francis, much more serious than I had ever seen him, which made me uneasy, so I decided to break the tension.

"Bastard, don't go selling my _fratello_ off to random weirdos! This guy is nowhere near good enough for him." I pointed accusingly at Francis, and waited for Antonio to finally release his hold of him.

Quickly, Antonio let go and laughed a startlingly, forced laugh, "Ah, I guess you're right Lovi! Francis probably isn't even Feli's type."

"Hmm, well I don't know about that," Francis piped up, grinning mischievously at something in the distance. "It looks like he has a thing for blondes."

"What the hell are you ta –" My voice trailed off as I turned around to see what he was looking at. I didn't even half to see what was going on, as soon as I heard the ring of Feli's laugh, I muttered an "oh shit" under my breath and sped to the register, closing the giant gap in the line I had neglected.

Feli was leaning over the desk, left hand brushing through his hair, eyes twinkling, and although I didn't catch what he was saying because he was talking so fast, I bet it was something meaningless and flirtatious. Great, Feli has another crush. I shove my way to the register, and immediately prepare to stare down the bastard. Turns out, I had to look up, because he was very, very tall this blonde guy. Taller than Antonio was the first thing that came to mind – and it pissed me off that he was the first person I thought of. The blonde bastard looked very serious, to the point of constipated, but also slightly flustered; no doubt Feli was working his charms on him. He was still blushing slightly when he turned his focus on me, but in a flash he regained composure, and asked mechanically, "And what will you have today?"

Right, well see if you can handle this blondie."I'll have a grande hazelnut macchiato, double shot of espresso, soy milk, no foam, extra hazelnut drizzle."

He didn't even blink before replying with a level, "Okay, and is this order toge –"

"You know what? I changed my mind." I interrupt him, suddenly wide-awake by the adrenaline pumping through my veins. "I'll have a venti, non fat, no foam, no water, six pump, extra hot, chai tea latte."

The blonde bastard waited a moment, before replying, "And will this order be together?"

"Well, actu –" I heard Feli pipe up, but I shut him down before he can distract the blonde giant's attention away from me.

"Yes, together."

I hand him my credit card before he bothers to announce the price, and snatch the receipt from him quickly, giving him one last dirty look before ambling over to the pick-up counter. I overhear Feliciano finish a hurried, "Sorry, my brother's in a bad mood this morning," and strum my fingers on the countertop in frustration. But before I could say anything, Feliciano made the first move with a flick to my ear.

"Hey!" I snapped as I met Feli's rare serious face.

"What was that?" He whispered harshly, knitting his eyebrows in effort to seem angry.

"What? I should be asking you that! Who is that guy?"

And just like that, Feli's face completely relaxed, and he dreamily looked in the blonde bastard's direction. "Oh, that's Ludwig. He works here."

"Yeah, I can see that. Is that the only reason we walked over here?" I whispered back furiously, flicking my eyes up when I heard Antonio start his order. Oh, he drinks a cappuccino. That sounds like him.

"Yes!" Feli exclaimed; his hands open in a broad Italian gesture. "I've been coming here everyday trying to get his attention, but he never notices me!" He pouted and cast a despairing glance at Ludwig, while he's preparing our order.

"Is that why you're so dressed up?" I demanded, already well aware of the answer.

"Yes! I've tried everything. But he never notices me, or starts a conversation. I even visit his second job sometimes, at the gym."

"At the gym?" I asked half-surprised, and half-worried.

"Yeah, he teaches a strength class called Bodypump! It's actually really fun!" He caught my anxious stare and continued encouragingly, "Don't worry though! Ludwig's a med-student, so if anything happens, he'll save me!"

My eyebrows eased up a bit, but I criticized him, saying, "You're too weak to be lifting weights." _And you have asthma,_ I wanted to add, but he hates it when I use that against him.

"Oh, don't worry! Everyone lifts weights that are right for them. Ludwig gave me the lightest ones…though he didn't even make eye contact." Feli started to pout again, and I was beginning to worry he might actually cry, so I dug deep to find the honesty and kindness within me and be a decent brother for once.

"Feli, do you think he hates you?" I asked slightly exasperated.

"No, I just think he doesn't remember me."

I scanned behind the counter to see a pair of blue eyes poised in our direction, more specifically in Feli's, and I smirk knowingly, "Mmm, I don't think so. I think he's just pretending."

"R-really? Why do you say that?" Feliciano widened his eyes, and already the corners of his lips were twitching into a smile.

"Well, whenever you look away, he's looking at you. That's one clue. He was also blushing when I caught you two at the register…"

"No, he's always like that. I don't think I've ever seen him – Ooooh!" Feliciano clapped his hands excitedly, and I caught Francis and Antonio giggling at us. After I sent them a death glare I saw Feliciano looking perplexed. "But then, why hasn't he said anything to me?"

I roll my eyes at Feli's ignorance. "Idiot, he's probably really shy."

"Oh, do you think so?" Feli looked at Ludwig adjusting the lids on the drinks and puckered his lips in thought. "But he's so tall and strong, how could he be shy?"

"Maybe he's just shy about love-stuff. He looks more like the serious type than a romantic." I subconsciously glanced at Antonio when I said romantic, and panic when I noticed he was staring back at me. For some reason, Antonio took this as a cue to walk over, and I tried desperately to purposefully halt my blushing, but to no avail.

"Feli, are you having romantic troubles?" Antonio asked curiously, smiling only at my brother, and completely ignoring me now, damn it.

"Oh, Toni! You must be good at this! How do I get Ludwig to talk to me without scaring him?" Feliciano beamed at Antonio excitedly, flashing his light brown eyes and childish smile.

"Well Feli, with someone like Ludwig – who I know pretty well – I would just be direct. He's not very good and reading between the lines. So, just walk up to him and ask him to meet you someplace." Antonio smiled at him, but before Feliciano could catch Ludwig's attention, Antonio leaned near Feliciano's ear and whispered another series of hushed words, too quiet for me to hear. Then he gave Feliciano that stupid, exaggerated wink I saw on Friday, and motioned for him to talk to Ludwig, who was already placing our drinks on the counter.

"Hey –" I started to approach the blonde bastard, but before I made one step forward, Antonio wrenched me backwards, with a hard grip on my arm. "Hey, you bastard! What are you doing? That hurts! Let me go!" I tried to beat on his chest with my fists, but he immediately lowered his face to my own (way, way too close) and held one finger to his lips.

"Shh, Lovi. Let Feliciano talk to Ludwig on his own, he doesn't need your help."

"My WHAT?" I yelled louder, trying to catch Feli's attention and annoy Antonio at the same time. My eyes dart in Feli's direction quickly and notice he's still twirling his hair, so I shifted my eyes to Antonio's and tried again, "Who said I wanted to help Feli win over his new crush? It's going to be the same thing all over again!"

Antonio knitted his eyebrows together, apparently processing information that his Spanish brain was too lazy to piece together, but when he opened his mouth to talk, suddenly another voice interrupted.

"Hey Toni! Sorry I'm late! Have you been missing my awesomeness?" A shorter (but unfortunately, still taller than me), platinum blonde gave Antonio a loud slap to the back, and a crooked grin. God, he's pale. He almost looks like an albin – shit.

"Ah, Gilbert! I was wondering if you weren't going to make it. Antoine and I already ordered." Francis spoke up from his seat at the table beside us.

"Fine with me. Luddy starts whipping my order up the moment his awesome brother walks through the door!" Gilbert waved rapidly to Ludwig's red, flustered face; then proceeded to make random hand gestures. Which I guess were some sort of code? Or an American thing? I started to zone out and pay attention to how close I was to Antonio; I could smell paint and soap on him. Fortunately, he was talking to Gilbert, so he didn't notice my face redden ten-fold. But as I was pressing my free, cool hand to my cheeks, I caught Gilbert staring down at me. Oh, I guess he just noticed. "Hey, who's this guy? He's not joining our 'bad touch breakfast' right?" Gilbert laughed maniacally and looked at Francis and Antonio for some sort of signal.

But I didn't want to wait for Antonio to publicly humiliate me in front of his friends and downgrade me to _"just a student,"_ or _"some guy I know,"_ so I jerked my arm free from Antonio's grip and uttered a distinct, "No." Then stalked away in Feli's direction.

I wanted to avoid their faces, so I rushed to Feliciano's side, who was thankfully not at the counter anymore, and standing at the milk and sugar table. Maybe I can convince Feli to leave with me now and go to the art studio with me. I just want to sit in peace and quiet with my art supplies and not have to deal with all of these goddamn people and their goddamn emotions.

"Hey Feli, did you get our drinks?" I asked quickly, watching him add Splenda into both cups.

"Yep, I did!" He said happily, stirring my drink a few times, before capping it with the plastic lid.

"Great," I started, grabbing my drink from him hastily, and adding, "Because I was thinking maybe –"

"Ludwig is going to join me for coffee!" Feliciano squealed, dazzling me with a bright smile.

"What?" I asked dumbly, not sure which negative emotion to feel right now. So in one day I'm going to be rejected by the only two people I like. Scratch that. One person. Feliciano. I do not like that annoying, Spanish bastard. I hate him.

"Yeah, I asked him if he had time to explain his job to me, because I was thinking of working here, and he said he went on break in five minutes! Isn't that exciting?" He abandoned his open drink at the table and enveloped me in an awkward hug. Awkward for me at least, because I was balancing a hot drink, and trying to avoid choking on Feli's hair.

"You're getting a job?" My voice doesn't sound right, it sounds sort of distant, but Feli doesn't seem to notice and releases me so I can see his eyes shine with stupid, lighthearted, happiness.

"Vee~Maybe! I mainly just wanted an excuse to talk to him, but it also seems sort of fun! And I could spend more time with Ludwig that way!" He turned back to the table and closed the lid on his drink.

I loitered behind Feli for a moment, unsure if I should be selfish and drag him away from Ludwig, or just leave and let him be happy. I end up deciding its better for everyone if I leave, so I tap Feli on the shoulder to get his attention, and say in the most normal voice I can muster, "I'm going on ahead to the studio. I'll see you later."

"What? Why don't you go join Antonio and his friends?" Feli exclaimed, and it briefly crossed my mind that this whole thing was some sort of elaborate set-up.

But I sighed at my stupidity, and, because I currently lacked the energy to be an Italian hothead, I harshly mumbled, "As if I would sit with that stupid bastard…" Then I walked quickly and efficiently through the building, navigating myself far away from Antonio's table – though I did sneak a glance to see them laughing together – and rushed out the door.

Ugh, I hate this. I hate this so much.

I stand outside the Starbucks entrance for a few moments, breathing shakily into the air, before sighing again, and beginning my resigned trek to the studio. All I want to do is be alone. That's what I'm good at. I'm no good with people, and obviously they don't like being with me, so what's the point.

I can tell myself that maybe Ludwig won't fall for Feliciano, maybe they won't start going out, but I know that's not true. Everyone falls for Feliciano. And then he'll leave me, and I'll be alone again, until the bastard breaks his heart, and I have to pick up the pieces. Again.

And then there's that stupid, damn Antonio: smiling and praising me during class, then embarrassing me with his friends. I wish he would just ignore me. That would hurt less than having him pretend to like me in front of his friends.

And then the worst part is, the day's not even over. I have to burn through three critiques today – all of them against Feliciano – and thereby humiliate myself three times, for being the untalented older brother, related to a prodigy.

I'm used to seeing _Nonno_, the rest of my family, acquaintances, and fucking everyone else compliment Feliciano, but I don't want the first person who's ever thought of me as a great (God that sounds ridiculous) artist to compare me with Feliciano. I don't want to see that same ridiculous smile, and passionate, green eyes sparkle and shine at anyone else – especially not Feliciano. Not because I _love_ him or anything. I'm pretty sure I hate him. Ninety-five percent sure. Maybe eighty.

But the only stranger who's ever thought anything of me is going to abandon me. And it's going to happen… in T minus forty-five minutes.

Fuck.

* * *

_Firenze_ - Florence

_nonno_ - grandfather

_fratello_ - brother

_non lo so_ - I don't know

* * *

And cliffhanger. Sorry, but I decided to switch POVs for the next part, so it has to end here.

But I promise this fic is the next to be updated! I'm going to take a break from Your World, to even up the number of chapters.

I hope you keep reading! Love you all!


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